An Incidental Convention
by pearypie
Summary: Various drabbles involving Klaus and Caroline. Meetings, marriages, and a melange of other incidents. CH 3: Fairytale France - an embittered navy admiral is sequestered away to his countryside manor after becoming horribly disfigured by an exploding war vessel. Caroline is the beautiful young maiden he stumbles upon one afternoon, blue eyed and unable to see.
1. au: a disrupted interruption

**Written in a pinch because I miss Klaroline.**

* * *

It's a predictably chilly November afternoon when Caroline Forbes - dressed in jeans and thigh high boots - marched her way down UVA's campus for a coffee. It wasn't in her nature to be so aggressive when it came to getting her caffeine fix but there was a hot new employee working at Para who supposedly has black hair, a smart mouth and was _Italian_.

Totally Caroline's type.

Maneuvering her way around the random bundles of gold and orange, Caroline felt quite content in spite of the midterm hell every student was currently facing. In fact, she could've call her morning a peaceful one had a shining white Rolls Royce not come speeding her way, nearly knocking Caroline (and her brand new Fendi) askew on the concrete sidewalk.

"Ugh, what the _fuck_?" she snarled under her breath, barely coming to when the Rolls jerked to a stop, cleanly parking on the empty road with a crisp flourish. "Don't tell me it's another trust fund baby who just got his license." Caroline muttered, discreetly double checking her beautiful Peekaboo Micro Satchel and - ensured that it was still intact - turned on her heel, ready to double her espresso shot from zero to two.

"Excuse me - sweetheart?" a lilting, accented, very _British_ voice called out from behind her, causing Caroline to nearly stumble over in frustration and curiosity. The temptation to turn around for a precursory glance was strong but...

There was a hot Italian waiter waiting for her fifteen minutes down the road and Caroline had no time for assholes today.

"It's Caroline and I'm fine so you can keep the apologies to yourself and cut down on the James Hunt driving." she returns without even bothering to turn around. Does she sound like a bitch? Sure. But did she ask to be nearly run over _on a sidewalk_ this Wednesday afternoon? Nope.

"Sweetheart, slow down. I doubt Para is going to consider your order if you can't pay for it."

Caroline immediately stops and without thinking, reaches into her Fendi to feel everything save her wallet.

Damn.

Spinning around, Caroline's ready to say something snarky and probably far too acerbic for 2 PM when she's greeted by mirthful cobalt eyes and a dimpled smirk.

Oh… _fuck_.

This one wasn't just hot. He was downright sexy - in the most x-rated sense.

"Thanks." Caroline reigns in her shock for a mask of nonchalance as she walks over to the Brit, bemoaning his towering - and somewhat imposing - six foot two height.

She gritted her teeth while plastering a sarcastic smile on her lips.

"Nice to know you don't go around stealing women's wallets after nearly running them over."

His smirk deepens. "You'll have to wait another month for that atrocity to occur, sweetheart. November's a month to give thanks after all."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, then, thank us Americans for the holidays as well as for dumping your tea in the harbor."

"Oh, striking history in the face I see!" he counters, voice full of mock surprise. "I'm going to say in spite of your historical analysis you are _not_ a history major."

"Hm - partial credit." Caroline offers with a small smile. "I'm an _art_ history major." she finally relents, "took me a good year to finally decide between that and managerial accounting." she gives a faux shrug of dissolution. "Such a thrilling subject."

He chuckles at her dry tone of voice and Caroline finds herself relaxing at the sound of his laughter. It reminds her of rich bourbon and the decadent colors of autumn.

Blue blooded since birth.

"Forgive me for the subpar conclusion then," he offers. "My sister is a student here and she is a bit like you in some regard. I assumed you'd take after her and integrate yourself in the interior design arena."

Caroline scoffs. "Please. Just because I'm blonde doesn't mean I'm automatically going to go all _Blue Jasmine_ on you in ten years." she pauses for a second. "Wait, you _do_ know that movie right? Because this would be a really awkward conversation if you didn't get the film reference and now think I'm a permanent nutcase." she offers, that neurotic edge she's never quite managed to shed rearing its ugly head again.

In spite of it, the blonde man laughs again - this time it's easier, more at ease than his wry chuckle. "A Woody Allen picture is one of the few to retain comical wit without disintegrating into vulgar japes about sex or starlets."

"Never took you for a 'woman's picture' kind of guy."

"Well I never discerned you for an aspiring art curator either."

Caroline's cheeks flush though she quickly pins that fault to the chilly November wind. "What can I say? Art can transcend time while everything else just...dies."

The man quirks a brow. "I do believe the term your looking for is obsolete."

"Yeah, but if you point that out to a girl it kind of makes you sound like an asshole."

"Oh does it?" he puts forth Caroline's wallet. "I suppose if I were to fit under that derogatory term then I would, of course, claim this fine leather Prada as my own and leave you to stand here. Good day."

"Wait - what?" Caroline blinks before she realizes that Hot Blonde Man was now walking away. Without thinking, Caroline lunged forward, latching onto the arm of his black coat, the rich cashmere shooting a tingle up her fingertips as she managed to jog up behind him.

He turns, wry smirk all too cocky on his handsome face. "What's wrong now, sweetheart? Finding yourself grieving over the insult you've dealt me?" he taunts, causing Caroline to wish she had a broom in hand so she could whack this blonde Shakespeare right in the face.

"Not a chance." she rolls her eyes. "Gimme back my wallet. This is a total felony and I could take legal action against you." she warns, holding out her hand expectantly but received nothing save his intense cobalt stare. "Hey - "

"I have a childish equine rebuttal for that term but I won't use it now." he easily side steps Caroline, giving her a small smile. "I'll tell you what, sweetheart: you can have the wallet back if, in exchange for your rudeness, I get your phone number."

" _My_ rudeness?" Caroline gawks, too amazed by this man's arrogance to register anything else. "You're the one who nearly ran me over in the first place! In fact, you started this whole chain of events!"

"Then allow me to apologize by getting your number and formally asking you to dinner sometime this week."

"What? No!"

 _Brits. Always so fucking smooth._

"Well the French are also quite well versed in coquettish behavior but not nearly as gallant as we Englishmen are." he smirked, causing Caroline to realize she'd blurted her unfiltered thoughts aloud.

Right as another argument fell onto the tip of her tongue, Caroline felt her phone vibrate in her bag. "Ugh - hold on." she instructed the wallet snatching asshole while she fished out her iPhone, sliding it open for Rebekah's frantic voice to come through on the other line. "Hey - yeah, no - calm down! Yeah, I'm coming. I just…I got held up by some wallet snatcher and - what? Who? And….he is…oh." Caroline's eyes trailed up the Englishman's form. Tall, dressed in black Armani with golden curls, blue eyes, and dimples. "And when was he supposed to come visit you?"

"Today! Right now! Nik's always being such an arse - showing up late whenever he can." Rebekah pouted.

"…huh. Bekah, I'm going to have to call you back." Caroline blinked, hanging up amid Rebekah's protests as she took a nice long look at (presumably) Mr. Nik Mikaelson. "Are you Rebekah's asshole older brother who she claims to hate but really loves more than anything?"

"That would require you to answer the question of are you Caroline Forbes, my sister's roommate who claims you can never keep anything sorted for more than two weeks?" he returns tauntingly, brazen as ever.

Caroline's jaw dropped open at the insult. How dare he! He didn't even _know_ her! She was Caroline Forbes - everything she did had an orderly process and if something just happened to be bent out of shape, then it was purposely tussled up for aesthetic purposes. That was that.

"Well…you drive like a dandy!" she returned after a pause, glaring at the long neglected Rolls Royce.

"Was that meant to be an insult?" he inquired, looking as if he were trying to hold back laughter as Caroline huffed. "Tell you what, sweetheart, it appears as if we have both been wronged by the road - "

" - the _road_?" Caroline sputtered, finally realizing what Rebekah meant when she called her brother an "arrogant bastard".

"And I believe it is necessary for the two of us to join together in overcoming the difficulties posed by poor street services here at UVA." he continued, undeterred by Caroline's interruption. "As a result, I offer you my credit card's services as well as the pleasure of my company for an evening affair anytime this week. Choice of venue, of course, will be mine to hold." Klaus added.

"Can I just take the former half of that offer and leave out the whole 'pleasure of your company' part?" she inquired sweetly, delphinium eyes wide with innocence as Klaus gave a rather splendid shake of the head.

"Afraid not, sweetheart. It's a package deal - much like commercial airlines."

She scoffed. "You'll have to forgive us commoners for not having a private jet." Caroline returned, fully prepared to leave for her overdue coffee before the movie queen of all movie queen ideas hit her.

 _You're in for it now..._

"Klaus…" Caroline took a step towards him, smile golden, as Klaus's whole form stiffened, guard up. "I," she beamed, "have a wonderful proposition for you."

"Is that right?" he eyed her curiously and Caroline was positive she detected a hint of endearment in his lolling tone.

"If you can plan an evening that surpasses the _Pretty Woman_ date scene to the opera, I will personally show you some of that famous southern hospitality we are so renowned for and I will also," Caroline grins, "let you off the hook with Rebekah. So." she put one hand on her hip, form akimbo as she smiled. "What do you say?"

The sudden change of his countenance was quick enough to give any woman whiplash. The coolly appraising eyes had turned feral, the smirk on his lips bled red and the warning bells in Caroline's head were finally going off.

He looked like he wanted to _devour_ her.

Maybe she'd gotten in a little over her head. After all, if the sordid tales about Klaus's sybaritic lifestyle by Bekah wasn't a big fat warning sign already, his sudden wolf-like disposition certainly was.

Caroline chuckled nervously. Time to backtrack.

"Um, actually Klaus - "

"Deal."

 _Oh, shit._

* * *

 **A/N: I don't even know what this is. But I hope you enjoyed it.**

 **And general question: anyone want me to start a drabble series? I could probably encapsulate sequels for my other stories within it.**

 **Review, please!**


	2. au: an east coast encounter

**au: 1990. A gloomy New York evening. Gray clouds, slashing concrete, people milling about in the gray, gray air. Klaroline.**

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It starts with a train, about to leave for New York State, when Klaus catches a woman weeping beside the ticket stand. She's out of line, left shoulder leaning against the dark green booth, anteriorly facing the compartment carts. Perhaps it's because he's just witnessed Bekah cry over a new boy or maybe he's feeling particularly wary and wants to consume the world's woes - whatever the reason. He crosses over to her.

"Here," is all he says, offering his handkerchief. The woman, startled, turns around and Klaus is met by two glistening pools of sapphire; her lashes are damp and nose slightly red.

She looks down at his offered handkerchief and looks up again, puzzled.

"Do I know you?" she inquires, though her voice isn't what Klaus expected. It's not weak and tragic but strong - a slightly wavering, yes, but filled with a vivaciousness he has all but ceased to see in people these days. "Oh…I'm not, I'm not really crying," she blushes, bashful at what the scene must look like.

Klaus is stoic, face unmoving as he watches her.

"It's just, I was seeing off my friend. She's going back home to Albany and well - I mean, you probably don't know _that_ and it would be really disconcerting if you did but…well, she's leaving for Albany and this isn't the cleanest of train stations and…you see, the wind blew and someone must of struck their cigar out of the window or something and I wound up with ash in my eye." she paused. "And that's how you found me. But I'm not crying." she finishes awkwardly, her explanation holding a strange liveliness that makes it all the more amusing. The fact that she's trying to convince him - a perfect stranger - that she has not been crying makes him chuckle, ever so slightly.

Her eyes narrow.

"Have I done something amusing? Do I amuse you?" she threatens; it's said accusingly but he can't help but detect an undertone of satire in her voice. He smiles.

"Joe Pesci. Goodfellas." Klaus returns.

"Yes," she relents, "I just saw it in theaters yesterday."

He doesn't know what compels him to say this, but he does. Quite carelessly.

"Elijah said producing the film gave him a bloody awful headache. Martin Scorsese may be a genius but all that brilliance came with a rather large price tag."

Usually, when Klaus pulls that line, women swoon and chirp and inquire on the other aspects of Hollywood and bemoan how they've _always_ wanted to become an actress. They try so hard to become that "who? Me?" figure Hollywood idealizes, though they're distinctly unaware of how ridiculous it makes them look. As a result, he mentions his family name more for personal amusement than anything else, just to see how moronic a people can become when they believe fame is just a footstep away.

The woman before him scoffs lightly, crossing her arms in derision. She looks like a kitten ready to pounce on her lion prey. "And I'm going to guess you're a big shot executive and your sister is an actress and your whole family has a fortune of ten billion and greater?" she responds sarcastically. "Look, if you're trying to find somebody to show off to, I'm usually your girl but today I'm a little touchy so can you please, I don't know, leave?"

From her expression, she knows she's being rude but the glint in her eyes also indicates that she's slightly apologetic. This recklessness would usually get her killed in any other situation but Klaus finds that he likes this strange, sporadic courage. So he laughs outrightly and it sends her into a further rage.

"What?" she demands, "if you don't stop, I'll scream."

"Surely you wouldn't commit such a distasteful act, sweetheart." he smirks, knowing full well she wouldn't want a crowd of witnesses around right now. "The crux of the matter lies in causation and, as far as I can see, I was merely instigating fact in order to spur on further conversation."

Her response is a skeptical raise of the brow but she relents, uncrossing her arms with a sigh. "You're really very strange, you know that?"

"Strange as I may be, I have my manners," he retorts with a sharp edge that is softened by his smile. "You're beautiful sweetheart, but that tongue of yours is going to get you into trouble one of these days."

She looks taken aback by his words and - with a Herculean effort - manages to suppress the reddening of her cheeks.

Just as he suspected. She _did_ care for propriety.

"I told you I wasn't in the mood of any lecturing - from anybody. And I get that you may have just been trying to start a friendly conversation but you seem kind of… _insultant_ , so…" she trails off and Klaus smirks.

"French?" he offers, "I think you meant to say 'disparaging unto others'." his own cobalt eyes twinkle and she gives him a slight smile.

"I couldn't remember the word." she returns. "And I thought insultant sounded better than 'being so cocky you make others feel bad'." Klaus just shrugs because he can't remember the last time he met a woman as perceptive as she with a humor nearly as offbeat as his own. When she continues to look up at him, he tilts his chin towards the train. "It's leaving." he announces somberly, watching as her brilliant golden curls bounce down her back as she turns around to confirm his observation.

He looks down at his wristwatch. Nearly a quarter to six. He needed to return to the office before Elijah bit his head off - not to mention that meeting with Chicago he'd all but blown off. Klaus looks back at the blonde - now waving goodbye to some indistinct figure on the train - and commits her to memory. He'll paint her later, sketch her. Remember her.

Lightly - almost tentatively so - Klaus feels something brush against his right shoulder blade. Glancing back, he sees her hand raised midway, a guilty expression on her face.

She flushes.

"Um. Tell his Elijah guy he's really good at producing movies and if he ever wants to make another picture with Martin Scorsese, I'll be the first to buy tickets for it." she blurts out, voice firm and playful. It makes Klaus smile.

Again.

"I'll personally mail you a front row pass to the premiere." he promises, surprising them both. He steels himself. "It was a pleasure meeting you…?"

"Caroline," she supplements. "Just…Caroline."

"Klaus," he returns, eyes watching her lips curl up into a small smile. He feels that rash impulsiveness his father has always taunted him for but for once, Klaus can't bring himself to care.

He takes her gloved hand and presses his lips to it, a sweeping old world gesture his mother had instilled in him since youth but one he rarely practiced outside of the ballroom. "Good evening then." he bids, a faint smiling playing on his lips.

He manages to catch a final glimpse of her blush before he turns around and leaves the station.

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 **A/N: I'll be taking drabble requests this week, guys! Write them in the reviews section and I'll pick 5 to write and post here.**


	3. au: a beautiful thing

_The black plumes rose towards the cerulean sky, unburdened by the pleas of the dying and untouched by the flaming skin of the burnt. Klaus could see nothing but the cobalt water and the broken remains of the SS Voxley, an army vessel carrying fourteen shipments of gunpowder from England to the Colonies as the revolutionaries fought their war._

 _Klaus had been aboard that ship, a gleam in the tsunami crests of his eyes as he smelt salt and sea. From above, Klaus could see the smiling, hopeful face of his young brother Henrik, holding onto the post of the port as he waved goodbye to him. "You've won every war, Nik," Henrik's awed voice had wavered moments ago, "you'll win this one, won't you?"_

 _"Of course I shall!" Klaus had responded with all the corybantic arrogance that a lifetime of hedonism had instilled in him. "And when I return we shall finally see if your swordsmanship skills have improved, won't we, brother?" he'd teased, playful as the thrill of anticipation coursed through his veins._

 _War was a pleasure Klaus never tired from._

 _Henrik had puffed out his chest, brown eyes filled with the determination that came with being a Mikaelson. "I shall, Nik, you know I shall!" lowering his voice, Henrik dared to step closer towards his brother - Commodore Niklaus Mikaelson of the British Armed Forces. A glorious war hero his brother was! All sharp cheekbones and snakelike smirks; decorated in blue and blood red - the war was theirs for the taking and Henrik knew Klaus would be at its helm._

 _His brother stood proudly aboard his ship; sharp blue eyes softening as he sought out his brother, smirk still in place as he raised his hand to salut._

 _Then hell was unleashed._

 _Around them the wind and waves fought, the pyroclastic blooms of orange and red filled the port like a sea born sunset, consuming the whole of light with its voracious appetite. It took the sailors and the white sails and the oak boards; the flames were relentless in its pull and from it - the jealous sea - never to be outdone, swallowed its human offerings whole._

 _The lit pipe of a careless sailor below deck - foolish, foolish man! - signaled the beginning of the end as the crates of gunpowder exploded, each flame bearing the duty of destruction. Falling crates had the impact of what felt like rifles to the skin and Klaus, swimming as he did in the English channel, broke to the surface with watery gasps. All around him, the sounds were slow like the beat of a war drum; the screams impaled by falling bows and breaking sterns; the gunpowder, even resting on water, seemed to rise with heavy anger, birthing fire to consume man whole._

 _"Henrik!" Klaus could not hear himself scream, "Henrik!"_

 _The boy - just fourteen - lay unmoving on pieces of broken salt wood, the fiery blasts of energy having caught the unassuming port._

 _He'd been standing too close to the edge, bidding his war hero brother goodbye._

 _"Sir! Sir, the rafters - " a sailor had begun to choke out when Klaus left behind rationality and swam to his brother._

 _When the smoke of his jacket caught the affection of nearby gunpowder, another explosion rang out - and the screams, oh the screams - were useless when the blue eyed commodore's skin caught fire. The soldiers who tried to pull him aboard the shore, hands heavy, saw that his body had withstood the totality of the impact in an effort to shield an unconscious child._

* * *

Henrik's funeral had been grand, Klaus remembers. It was all black and gold, the colors of the Duke of Montefort's crest; his aristocratic family stood beside that velvet lined coffin as each went on to press a tender pat to the lost child's cheek. Rebekah, soft hearted girl she was, kissed him on the forehead, wet tears rolling down her shining emerald eyes. Elijah, good brother he was, pressed a small pamphlet of radicalism into his brother's cold hand. Kol, whose riotous smile had been tucked away, murmured a quiet "rest in peace, brother of mine" and bid his mother to speak thereafter.

Niklaus Mikaelson, grand commodore and war hero, had been notably absent, but it was an absence no one could find in their heart to reprimand. Lying in a darkened room in Lierlan Castle, the blonde haired man wept silent tears that soaked through his bandages and burned at his raw skin.

He'd been dragged from the water and onto a vessel he couldn't recall; he had thought that it would be a worthy sacrifice if Henrik would wake and tell him just how strange he looked with bandages wrapped round his cheek.

But the boy's lips never moved and his heartbeat, once ashore, slowly faded away before the carriage even reached Mikaelson Alcazar. The Duke had been bitter and unfeeling, had told them to take his third son somewhere to be looked after and to prepare a noble funeral for his youngest so his wife could have some peace of mind.

Mikael, fourth Duke of Montefort, had hoped that should his sons die, they would die in a blaze of glory. That Niklaus, reckless fool he was, would at least have a hero's death rather than a pathetic burning by _gunpowder_. But once he'd seen the hideous mars of missing flesh on his third son's countenance, when he'd seen the scars and scaly skin - shoulders ripped open for raw muscle to be examined and stitches that criss crossed like spiderweb silk - Mikael had been disgusted.

Grotesque sight, he'd informed the Duchess, too hideous to be seen in the decency of the English court.

It was Elijah, heir of Montefort, who had intervened and pled a case for his brother to be sent away to France rather than be killed on his sick bed. And perhaps the Duke felt it was his duty to relieve some of his Duchess's hysteria at the thought of losing two sons, one young and the other worthless, that Mikael had agreed.

And so, to the most isolated and rural part of France would Niklaus Mikaelson, former commodore and extinguished war hero, be banished for the remainder of his life. To spend each dawning day hiding from the revealing sun and endure each night with the memory of smoking flame and dead brown eyes. It was a good enough punishment for the boy, the Duke decided, and so he had granted it unto Klaus - freely and with more warmth than he had ever displayed towards any of his children.

So whilst there were visits, monthly even, from honorable Elijah and dear Rebekah, nothing would truly be able to erase the ache of loneliness, guilt, and utter loathing that Klaus felt.

Sybarite he was no more, and from the cold dead ashes came upon the waking world a man who was no better than dead. He walked in grayness, seeking absolution for his sins but none, he felt, would ever come upon him. The months wore on and he felt the aching desolation intermingle with laborious culpability so much so that darkness - bitter and cold - consumed him.

But Elijah, good man he was, held persistence.

And from that persistence bore a brotherly companionship and fierce sense of competition that could be urged onto the surface when coaxed. Horse racing and sword fighting were monthly blessings that temporarily relieved Klaus; small as it was, the gift was a reprieve nevertheless. Yet on this particular occasion, the former commodore sneered, Elijah could not come for he had urgent duties at court that needed to be rectified.

Enclosed, however, was a daring taunt that pushed at nothing if not Klaus's shredded pride - his hubris still intact.

"The bloody fool," Klaus muttered as he stared at the heavy parchment before throwing it to the flames. "I'll show him that even I can face the sun."

And so, on that particular spring dawn, the blighted man took up horse and saddle to the forests surrounding his French chateau and rode as far as he dared into civilization. He owned lands - acres and acres of it - with workers tending and planting; Klaus was nothing if not efficient and with little else to do in that lonely chateau, he'd spent his days calculating profit and labor and necessity. The burdened man was nonetheless a rich one who held gold as readily as Hades did. And like the figured death, he spent it on nothing; his soul lying dormant in agony.

Today, however, Klaus rode atop his steed - midnight in color - through vast wildflower fields. His face dared not peer upwards at the blue sky so his gaze was instead fixed ahead, looking towards a distant horizon he could not cross.

A life he -

"Oh, _monsieur_!" came a sudden cry, nearly stopping Klaus instantly as his hands tightened instinctively on the reins. It was the cry that would shatter him once he pulled that black stallion to a full stop, eyes curious.

Peering down, Klaus observed - with storage awe - a woman of milk white skin and bright gold curls that appeared to be strands of the sun. "If you forgive my abrupt interruption, you and your horse may pass by - do forgive the ferryman here." she continued cheerfully, voice filled with good humor.

But it was her eyes that caught Klaus's attention. Eyes of a pale summer blue that seemed almost ethereal in the daylight. Eyes that stared right at Klaus's monstrous scars.

* * *

Caroline Forbes was something of an oddball. A strong one willed, yes, born into breathing form with a light that shone too brightly. It glowed in her, even as a babe, that when she opened her eyes - delphinium blue - to see the wonderment of the world, all she saw was darkness as the blinding light glowed too fiercely within that it robbed the little one of her earthly sight.

But it was a matter of little consequence, the essence of nature decided, for the color of all the world lived so vividly in her that there was no need for apperception. Caroline grew with hands that were soft as her nature, with lips that she did not know looked like rosette petals, and with a heart that she kept open to all. There were those who mocked her - the golden haired girl who counted her steps as she walked - and there were those who ignored her, claiming presence came with sight.

How wrong they were! Caroline grew to realize, as she'd cried to her mother and father when the children ran from her, the blind child they'd mockingly teased.

"You must never let anyone instill in you inferiority, Carolina," her father, warm in his words, had murmured into her hair. "You are the sunshine of this world for you are the only one who sees with the heart and not the wicked eyes of man. Those who speak to you cruelly are those who cannot see the great love you bear the world. They do not see with the heart and so, cannot understand your sweetness; they will think their falsehoods correct, for even Adam and Eve were banished from Eden when they opened their eyes to the world's truth." he kissed the top of her head. "You are pure, my dearest child, for you see with a truth that those born with sight do not."

And young Caroline, still too ignorant to understand her father's wisdom, nodded at the cadence of his dove strong voice and fell into a wondering slumber.

But the words of her father were prophetic and as the years went by, Caroline found a companion who shared her sight. Her name was Katerina Petrova, a Bulgarian girl who had flowing brunette curls, gleaming chatoyant eyes, and a playful, bold smile that seemed to chase away all the insecurity of the world.

Yet when she came to the village square to sit with the other girls chattering and laughing, they turned their backs on the young Katerina once they saw the bundle in her arms.

"A child out of _wedlock_?" they sneered, "how utterly _shameful_! Why my family would simply die if I was in such a disgraceful position." they crowed mercilessly before the bold faced Bulgarian whose brown eyes were aflame with the finesse of possibility.

The Bulgarian girl's mouth had curved upward into a smile that cut like a sharpened blade. "Yes, _indeed_ ," the strange young woman returned in accented French, "but who are you to speak to a woman who has know the passion of another? I dare say your spinster life shall be a constant reminder of why my child is a blessing unto me and your cold home, a testament to your unwanted virtue."

And when those girls had left, a flutter of flustered ribbons, Caroline remained; seated there with her book of pressed flowers in her lap.

"Aren't you going to leave too?" the girl had demanded curiously.

Caroline, soft smile on her lips, shook her head. "No, I shall not. What they said was quite cruel and unneeded as I am sure their jealously has already leaked from their pores and festered into the villages rats many times over." she'd turned in the direction of the Bulgarian girl's accented voice. "Won't you sit down?" she gestured pleasantly, motioning to the empty seat beside her.

Cautiously, Katerina sat down, feeling strangely warm at the sight of his golden haired girl's sweet smile. "Why aren't you running away?" she'd demanded rather rudely, but not without that faint hint of curiosity that the blonde fed on.

"I'd like to think a woman with a newborn will not kidnap or kill me within seconds of meeting." she returned lightly. "France is a long way from Bulgaria."

Katerina's eyes widened. "Is my appearance so foreign and my French so terrible that everyone can detect my birth country?" there was no hurt in her voice but rather, a strange sort of amusement that came with a shared sense of humor.

Caroline grinned, wider this time, as she stared straight ahead. "Oh no, your French is perfectly lovely but I use my egg ears here to see faces," she explained patiently. "You say your vowels with a softer accent and you do not smell of that rosewater every other girl is drowning in. Papa tells me Bulgaria is an innocent to this perfumed land."

At those words, the brunette threw her head back and laughed, causing the babe in her arms to squirm. "Oh, shush you," Katerina murmured softly in Bulgarian before turning to face Caroline once more. "My daughter seems to find you amusing enough and so I suppose it is only polite I introduce myself. Katerina Petrova, Miss…?"

"Not a miss, just a Caroline." she returned easily, "Caroline Forbes. And what is the name of the little one? Something that will no doubt sound much prettier than a cat's hiss when called upon, am I correct?"

The brunette, while unwilling to admit it, liked the blonde well enough, strange though she was. "This is Nadia," Katerina smiled, "my little Nadia Petrova. Say hello to Caroline, _prekrasen_."

The babe cooed and Caroline turned - for the first time - eyes gazing down at where she supposed Nadia would have rested in her mother's cradled arms. When Katerina blinked, she realized that Caroline's cornflower blue eyes, as pale as lake water, rested instead on the granite space that lay in between herself and the blonde.

It was then that Katerina understood that the pretty French girl with her bright smile and sunshine hair was blind.

When Caroline spoke something in murmured French that sounded like a teasing jape, Nadia clapped her hands in delight and Katerina decided then and there that the girl who gave away laughter so freely would be her companion. She would protect her as she did Nadia and, in this foreign land, find herself friendship.

* * *

When dawn arose on a morning three years after that particular meeting, Caroline found herself trekking the wilderness of the woods beyond the little town of Chutes Mystiques. Often, she and Kat would hike these mountains in search of lavender, roses - and, if they were lucky - white lilies. Their scent was sweet but not cloying, gentle like the pink tinged spring morning.

Walking past the large boulder Caroline had nearly tripped and fallen head first on, she knelt down, hands stretched out before her as she felt the small pinched petals of lavender stalks and smiled, setting her basket down.

Katherine, as Katerina had taken to calling herself, had remained at home with Nadia today. The little girl had felt somewhat ill and with a flushed red face, Caroline had assuaged Katherine's guilt of having to let Caroline trek the mountains alone. _A beautiful bouquet is what little Nadia needs_ , Caroline decided, picking the tallest stalks of lavender she could find before moving on. _Perhaps the sunflowers will do, they are 'yellow', like happiness…but - no. No, the lavender would not mingle well with the sunflower's crisp scent. Perhaps something softer, something sweeter like narcissi, the bride's lace as Katherine described…yes,_ Caroline smiled. _That will do. Lavender, narcissi, and perhaps a tall 'yellow' gentian if I can find one…_

Bending down, Caroline let her hands fall to the plentiful earth and smiled when her fingertips traced the butterfly petals of the white narcissi. _Innocent like youth,_ Katherine had attempted to explain, _they're like soft silks of new romance, of freshly discovered beauty._ Caroline smelt the fragrance of the narcissi, something like confectionary sugar mingled with the fresh new sprouts of a promising summer. She could almost picture little Nadia's face at being presented with a new bouquet; how the little dear loved her flowers!

"A flower shop is what she needs," Katherine had affectionately declared, "one where she can sell roses and irises and any other flower of the English countryside."

"Would you now?" Caroline inquired teasingly, "move away to the cold English moors and leave all of us behind?"

Nadia had jumped into Caroline's open arms, plump fingers seeking out Caroline's unbraided gold hair. " _Ne_ ," the little girl declared, " _Az shte imam tsvetya navsyakŭde_ ," she promised smilingly and Caroline could feel her excitement and joy radiate off her body.

It had made her own lips curl upward and laughter to spill from her throat as white pearls did, flowing into the crystalline air with purity and ease.

The trampling sound of horses hoofs pounding against the earth caused Caroline to suddenly straighten, hoping the rider would see her before she met her death. "Oh, _monsieur_!" Caroline barely managed to choke out, praying he'd seen her.

When she heard the quieting of the horse, Caroline breathed a little easier. Whoever the man was, he must have been a skilled rider indeed to stop so abruptly.

"If you forgive my abrupt interruption, you and your horse may pass by - do forgive the ferryman here." she smiled up at where she supposed the rider stood. The horse's soft breathing made it easy and Caroline could feel the animal's strong heartbeat pulsing into the soft, early summer air. " _Monsieur_?" she inquired again when the man made no attempt to ride away. "Are you alright? I…I did not startle your horse too much, did I? Oh, _mon dieu_! You are not are hurt are you?" panic suddenly filled Caroline; of course the horse could have very well thrown off the rider and it was all silly Caroline's fault.

How stupid she was! Wading away in an open field without warning or reservation.

"There is a village doctor very close by!" she attempted to reassure, hands reaching out to touch the horse's face in order to bring him aside. "I can fetch him very quickly if you and your horse would only stay here, monsieur."

At long last, Caroline heard a chuckle; it was deep, rich, and smooth - like the heavy velvet cuffs her mother received as a wedding present years ago. It made Caroline feel warm, a warmth even softer than what the summer sun could promise when she heard his laughter.

"You would not find it so very amusing, monsieur, if your heart had nearly tumbled out of your chest as mine nearly did!" Caroline protested, attempting to suppress a smile as she continued to stroke the horse's nose.

Klaus, uncomfortable in the shining sun, could not look away. The girl's sapphire eyes were fixed on his marred face, scarred with its infinite stitches and puckered into scowls and angered boroughs. She, however, could see nothing and he did not not know if it were a blessing or a mockery that the gods should deem such a beauty unworthy of the gift of sight.

 _A blessing,_ a little voice inside his mind murmured, _for you_.

Clearing his throat, Klaus shook his head as he looked down at her again. By gods, she was lovely!

"I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, for my horrid inconvenience to you and your floral excursion," his perfect French went on, accented and sharp in a way only an aristocrat who'd spent years giving orders could imbue. "I suppose the supplication of my sins must now stem from your confidence in how best to prepare an apology for those blooms I have trampled?"

Caroline blushed, attempting to suppress the slight shiver that ran up her spine at his words. "I daresay an apology is the pretense you hide behind, monsieur."

Klaus glanced down at the fallen wicker basket; fresh lavender covered with dirt, the narcissi no longer in perfect fullness as they lay crushed by the handle. They were simple wildflowers and Klaus could have laughed at the girl's playful jest, could have told her to look to her left and find more of these common blooms but…when had he last gazed on a creature that laughed so freely, spoke so lightly, and was filled with as much open joy as this woman?

If the sun was the center of the heavens, then her smiles would be his.

Thus, he gave her an exaggerated bow she could not see, but allowed the tip of his leather gloved hand to brush against hers. She froze for a moment and Klaus feared he had frightened her away, that she could somehow sense his ruined face, the wretchedness of his dark soul but then - just then - her smile returned and hands moved upwards, almost as if she were seeking his touch again.

He swallowed.

"Permit me to say then that white roses would suit your countenance much better than these." the words rolled off his velvet tongue smoothly and without hesitance.

If Caroline had been uncertain before, she was sure of it now - the man before her belonged to the aristocracy and whatever faction he was in, he seemed almost amused by the simplicity of she. To be sure, Caroline was not uneducated about the ways of the rich but never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that they could be so very courteous to a peasant that was not even worth a modicum of their time.

She bowed her head slightly at that realization and stepped away. "Monsieur - "

Klaus felt his heart drop when he saw her move, sidestep away from Thames and lower her brilliant skylark eyes to the ground. Perhaps she truly wasn't blind? Had she only been able to stomach looking at his hideousness for so long?

"Don't." he ordered, voice cold and stiff as he pulled in Thames's reins. "I have kept you from your duty and I apologize. Mademoiselle." he began to turn when he suddenly saw her hand shoot out, blindly reaching for Thames again.

"No, wait, monsieur - please! I did not mean any disrespect," she began, eyes looking upward now. "I did not realize who you were and when I did, it was too late to retract to what I had already said and so - " she broke off when she heard his chuckles. Caroline frowned, slightly frustrated. "Why is it, monsieur, when I am trying to confess polite courtesy to you, you always find it so amusing? Shall I simply entertain you with a book of propriety in order to keep you appeased?" her voice had a bite to it now, a fiery sort of repartee that Klaus found himself throughly intrigued by.

He smiled once more.

"No mademoiselle, it is not your apologies - "

"They most certainly were not apologies, monsieur." she countered hotly. "They were…fixations. On courtesy."

Klaus smirked. "But of course," he added with mock seriousness. "Then, it is not these _fixations_ I find so amusing but the idea that you have somehow given me any slight. You, mademoiselle, have given me a joy that I find…puzzling. I welcome you to tell me your name."

If she had felt somewhat lightheaded with this faceless man's charms before, she now felt positively flushed. He was all sharp wit and nuanced satire, all respect and ruptured courtesy that made Caroline feel as if she could speak to him about the grains of sand on the beach and still be filled with vigorous curiosity.

Sinking down to a slight curtsey, Caroline gave him another smile - sunny and hopeful. "Caroline Forbes, monsieur - or are you a comte or duc who enjoys playing mind games?" she felt a sense of pride when she heard his slight intake of breath; it was faint but audible here in their quiet field. "Do not be so surprised monsieur, I may be blind but I can hear just as well as any other. Your voice, your words - they are far too pretty to belong to any commoner."

"Is that what you believe yourself to be, Miss Forbes? A commoner?"

She shrugged. "Is there any other way to describe us, monsieur? It is a title given by society and we cannot repeal it all at once. I find it is not as unendurable as some make it to be for, under its tone, we are all equals, oui?" she looked up at him, eyes wide and searching and Klaus felt his lungs give in.

 _Worthless_ boy _, a supposed hero, eh? Unable to save his own brother from death - pathetic! Unworthy of the Mikaelson name while I watch you flaunt about, parading like a caricature of our family title_ , his father had sneered at him all too often, hatred in his eyes.

But here (and Klaus did not know why) he felt his soul rise higher than it ever had before.

"You are clever, Miss Forbes." he finally murmured, voice low. "Wise beyond what was expected of the narrow minded and surprising my own sphere of knowledge." he suddenly found his feet on the ground and Thames's reins clutched in one hand. "Tell me, have you ever ventured further north to the rose bushes close to the Black Chateau?"

"I…no," she admitted, the apples of her cheeks alight with the balm of spring kisses. "I dare not go beyond the ridge of daisies there," she pointed absently. "If Kat were here, perhaps I would but she is tending to Nadia today."

The names don't mean a thing to Klaus but to Caroline, whose grin is brighter than the blinding July sun, those people have the honor of holding her love and for that, Klaus cannot help but retain a hint of unwarranted jealousy. "Perhaps you would like to see the great beyond then?" he joked lightly, "the wildflowers here are sweet but there is a plethora of marigolds and violets just beyond your grasp up there."

The temptation was weighing on her mind, Klaus could see that as she blinked a few times, frowning.

Suddenly, she fixed her stare at him, a small smile played on her lips. "You would not be so certain as to kidnap me away would you, monsieur?" her voice is low and serious and Klaus cannot help but laugh when she finally breaks character and smiles.

"You can rest assured, mademoiselle, I shall not do away with your virtue or your basket." he avowed, hand pledged to his heart as he watched her full lips drop open at his almost inappropriate allusion.

"Then by all means, monsieur - let us go!" she cried, blindly reaching out for his hand. And, for the first time, Klaus allowed another to lead him forward.

* * *

 **A/N: I know. This is pure sap. What can I say.**


End file.
